Charles Todd - A False Mirror

Granville thought, She’s hardly heard a word I’ve said to her. Aloud, he went on, “I don’t need two patients on my hands, Mrs. Hamilton. Think what’s best for your husband.”

Still she refused to let go.

He ignored her then, concentrating on running his hands over the broken body in front of him, watching the thin trickle of blood that had begun to appear at the corner of Hamilton’s mouth.

There was a commotion out front, and Mrs. Granville came to the door. “Doctor. Inspector Bennett is here. I think you ought to have a look at his foot-”

Granville glanced at her. “I’m busy!” he snapped.

“All the same,” she answered, and was gone.

After a moment, he sighed and walked quietly out the door. When his wife insisted, he had learned to pay heed.

In the examining room behind his office Granville found Inspector Bennett hunched in a chair, his face gray with pain, his eyes blazing with what appeared to be impotent fury.

Dr. Granville looked down at the man’s foot, and his attention sharpened. His wife had removed Bennett’s boot, and the stocking was humped with the swelling. Broken-

He knelt by the inspector and his wife handed him a pair of scissors to cut away the policeman’s stocking. Bennett was biting his lip, forcing down a groan of pain. “Had to drag the bloody thing half a mile before I could find help,” he managed at last, then glanced at the doctor’s wife. “Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

“What happened?” Granville asked, looking at the discolored ankle and twisted metatarsals.

The constable standing woodenly beside the inspector, his face without expression, waited.

Bennett said in a growl, “That bast-That devil ran over me!”

“Motorcar?” The inspector nodded, and Granville went on, “It will hurt, but I need to run my hands here-and there.” He began gently, and Bennett all but screamed when the doctor pressed on the raised area just ahead of the big, calloused toes.

“Dislocated, I think. Your foot must have been on its side when the tire compressed it. Into sand, I would guess-any harder surface and the entire foot would have been crushed.”

“Yes, sand,” Bennett answered between clenched teeth.

“And I think this bone took the brunt and is probably broken.” He looked up, nodding at his wife, and she disappeared into the back, reappearing almost immediately with a basin of soapy water and a cloth.

Dr. Granville began to bathe the injured area, keeping his hands away from the part that hurt the most. Then he proceeded to bandage the entire foot, glancing again at his wife as he worked.

“For right now, swollen as it is-and will be-it’s most important to stay off your feet entirely. But if you can’t-” He turned, and his wife set a pair of crutches into his hands. “If you can’t, then use these. Don’t walk at all until the swelling is down. I’m quite serious. Elevate your foot on a stool, and soak it in this-” His wife passed him a small packet of crystals. “Bandages and all, every two hours and again before you go to bed. After that we’ll see. I’ll come round to the house after my dinner and have another look at that bone.”

Mrs. Granville stood smiling at her husband’s back, as if he’d worked a miracle for the inspector.

“Crutches?” Bennett demanded. “Can’t you just set it, put some plaster over it, and let me be about my business?”

“You’re not to put your weight on that foot, Bennett. Do you hear me? Not until I can look at it again. Who did this to you? Mrs. Blackwood?”

Mrs. Blackwood had learned to drive her husband’s motorcar when he hadn’t come home from France. She was a terror on the roadway, her control minimal and her attention seldom on the mechanics of driving.

The silent constable smothered a grin.

“Mrs. Blackwood?” Bennett said, almost snarling. “What has she to do with it? No, it was that-that-” Words failed him. “I was trying to bring in Mallory, in connection with Mr. Hamilton’s thrashing. Mrs. Granville tells me Hamilton’s still alive but not speaking. More’s the pity. All he has to do is nod his head to a question or two, and I’ll have my man.”

Granville said sharply, “You think Stephen Mallory is behind this beating? Surely not!”

“Then why did he nearly break my neck, and run over my foot in his hurry to get away from me? When I set eyes on him again, it’s charges he’ll be hearing, assaulting a police officer with intent to do bodily harm, suspicion of attempted murder, and anything else I can think of. I’d almost wish Hamilton dead, to make it murder.”

“You don’t believe that!” Granville answered him, indignant. “Why should Mallory want to kill Hamilton-I understood they were friends.”

“Because,” Bennett exclaimed, his voice raised in fury, “he covets Hamilton’s wife. Didn’t you know? It’s the gossip all over town.”

Granville saw the inspector, hobbling unsteadily on his crutches and in a foul temper, out of the surgery. For a moment he watched the man down the walk, then cautioned the hovering constable to keep out of Bennett’s way. His face thoughtful, the doctor turned and strode back to Hamilton’s room.

He stepped across the threshold, an apology for the delay on his lips. And found his patient alone.

Mrs. Hamilton had gone out through the garden door, leaving it half ajar.

Granville bent over Matthew Hamilton’s broken body, listening to his uneasy breathing. To the doctor’s practiced eye, his patient’s condition remained unchanged. And if his wife’s voice hadn’t roused him, it was safe to say that no one could, for several more hours at the very least. The body found its own methods of healing, often enough, and a wise medical man learned to leave it to work its own miracle. He was almost grateful for Bennett’s injury, to keep the man out of the sickroom with his loud, badgering demands for answers and information.

“You have twenty-four hours of peace. Make the most of them,” he added softly to the silent, bandaged man. “After that, I shall have to find another way of keeping the inspector at bay.”

Straightening, Granville looked toward the open door just behind him. Bits of conversation reached him down the passage. Two women in the midst of what must have been a lively discussion in one of the other rooms. His wife speaking to someone in his office, though he could only make out every other word. There was a rumble of a reply, then as the man raised his voice, Granville caught the end of the sentence. “…if you wouldn’t mind, Missus.”

Had Mrs. Hamilton overheard any of his exchange with Inspector Bennett? The man had all but shouted at times, his anger getting the better of him. Had she heard Bennett accuse Stephen Mallory of trying to murder her husband? Was that why she left so abruptly, after hovering over Hamilton, nearly in tears?

He silently repeated Bennett’s last comment. He covets Hamilton’s wife. Didn’t you know? It’s the gossip all over town!

Dr. Granville found himself wondering how much of that was true.

Felicity Hamilton walked quickly through the streets without taking any notice of where she was going. First one shock and then the other. She wasn’t sure she could deal with either of them. She couldn’t stop thinking about Matthew lying there on the narrow bed of the doctor’s surgery, looking like a dead man. Bruised, battered, his bones broken-it hurt to imagine what he’d endured.

She hadn’t thought to ask who had discovered him lying on the strand. Why hadn’t she gone searching for him herself? Everyone knew he enjoyed walking along the tideline after a storm, looking for treasures washed ashore. Not that he ever found many-but he’d bring home a bit of driftwood or a smoothed shard of brown glass with the wide grin of a boy who had been out without leave, offering his tokens in the hope of avoiding a scolding. Wrapped in a sea mist, he particularly liked to stand at the edge of the sea listening to the waves break and roll toward him. And there had been a sea mist this morning, filling the gardens with a soft white veil, smothering all sound as it swathed trees and walls with a pale dampness.